In front of the window where I work,In the quiet hours when everything sleeps,Eyebrow and manly, like an oak,Thick huge tree rises. The zephyr for a moment curls a branch in his beard: and, that is, that transforms itThe wind or my gaze, the huge tree,Erected before the window where I work, Takes the appearance of a rude head,Sleepy … Read more
Your beginning comes from far away.Your end ends in your beginning.Contemplate yourself.Compare.Everything is the same.Everything is without change.Only the colors and lines have changed.What does the colors matter?, to the Lord of Light?Within the colors the light is the same. What does it matter about the lines?, for the Lord of Rhythm?Within the lines the rhythm is … Read more
I feel like I'm the bee in your craft. My verses smell like the woods, of oxen and corrals. I live in the land of primitive farms and farms. I love the land of a mystical consecrated love, sublimated spousal number,Procreative and fruitful.(CORALINA, 2004, p.330) Nature was generous with Campos do Jordão. Amid exuberant nature, to … Read more
The night turns pale. Dawn…You can hear the laughter of the fountain more…About the changing city, the horizon. It's a strange orchid blooming. There are swallows ready to say the dawn mass, as soon as the sun rises. Roosters' cries sound from mountain to hill In an intense joy of living.(SPANKS, 2003, p.76) The nuances that the sky acquires when the morning dawns on the sky are indescribable. … Read more
If the gaze saw curved,What do you say space is?,Looking southwestFrom my current terrace,I could see beyond the corrugated zinc (the water)Your coconut palm beaches,Pubescent, not glabrous. But there is another viewBeyond the primary (the eye),Because from here I see you With the view of your whole body,Under the tactile warm light,Thick with juices,Of a sun where you are Like inside … Read more
Here lies the sun That created the dawn And gave light to the day And pastured the afternoon. The magical shepherd With luminous hands Who fertilized the roses And plucked them. Here lies the sun The gentle And violent androgynous Who Has the form Of all women And died in the sea. (MATHEW, 2009, p.154) Paint … Read more
You wanted me to talk about poetry a little more…And despise the atrocious daily life… it was hearing the sound of my voice And not an echo – just – of this crazy world!(QUINTANA, 2007, p. 87) The enchantment that Art provides to the eye is inexhaustible., in its most varied forms of presentation. It's like running away from the world … Read more
“Thrivers” Exhibition¹ Each work of art is a child of its age and, In so many cases, mother of our emotions. Each period of Culture produces its own Art that can never be repeated. Efforts to revive the artistic principles of the past will produce, at best, an art that is yet to be born. It is impossible for us to live and … Read more
I want, to compose my chaste monologues,Lie down next to the sky, in the fashion of astrologersAnd very close to the bell I can hear him meditativelyThe solemn songs, carried by the wind. Hands placed on the chin, I from the top of the mansard roof,I view the workshop on Brown time:City towers and chimneys or masts,Big skies making eternity dream.(BAUDELAIRE, … Read more
Rosângela Vig, a true alchemist of words, weaves a fascinating tapestry in its articles that transports us to the enchanted realms of art. Your column on the Obras de Arte website is a shining beacon, guiding us through the intricate labyrinths of human creativity. With mastery, Rosângela unravels the mysteries of the works, revealing nuances, contexts and … Read more